


captain's orders

by JeanSouth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always ends exactly like this.<br/>shorter Akamido fics that don't warrant a separate work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> porn

It’s dark in Midorima’s bedroom, long past dusk that snuck up on him and kept him from moving to turn on the lights.

Outside there’s light pollution, and he can’t see any stars at all. In Akashi’s area, there’s a bright moon when it’s dark, and he prefers it when they’re there. In Akashi’s bedroom, they don’t have to be quiet, sneaky or afraid his parents will come home.

He’s muffled when he tries to speak, gagged by fabric in his mouth that tastes like fresh laundry. With his hands above his head, his muscles stretch and twist, making his obliques stand out in the bare light there is. Even in this, Akashi sees more than he should.

His fingers touch Midorima anywhere they want, and it’s hellish. They slide over his obliques and feel the ridges of them, but don’t give way when Midorima’s body twitches and jerks towards them. In a way, they’re softer when they only brush over his nipples, laugh at their sensitivity (not unkindly - never unkindly from Akashi) and keep going. They trail the underside of his pecs, and he licks along the imaginary line to soothe the sting of sharp nails.

Akashi doesn’t care about his hands when they curl into fists - he’s the only one who doesn’t care about Midorima’s hands - and instead makes his way down a soft treasure tail, almost invisible in good lighting and only there by feel in the dark.

There’s nothing but slick noises when he finally gets to Midorima’s cock and twists his hands around it, a little harsh but well lubed. A closed hand slicks the head over and over, quick and teasing until he closes his eyes from the strain of trying to focus them without his glasses.

He’s panting by the time Akashi slicks himself too, and seats himself like a king. Everything about his posture screams control, screams being proper, which shouldn’t be possible when he’s on top of another man and slowly raising his hips with his hands on Midorima’s chest for support.

His fingers feel like they’re burning a brand into skin, and clench almost as tightly as Akashi does around him. He goes even slower than before, raising and lowering as if he’s looking for something in particular. 

When he finds it, he’s leaning back with his hands on Midorima’s knees, grinding his hips back and forth instead of raising them. It’s barely stimulating; slow and unpleasing until Midorima takes it on himself to grind back and draw out gasps and moans where Akashi’s taken the time to find his own prostate and favourite angle. 

His fingers dig in when Midorima puts in effort and uses Akashi’s fragile state of mind to dig his heels into the bed and thrust instead of grind, bringing himself the relief he wants to when it just brings him closer and closer to the edge.

More than anything; more than fucking, he wants to see Akashi come without being touched. He leaves every trust sheathed to the base and lets Akashi grind himself down on it, eyes closed and head tipped back before he starts all over again.

It’s hard when he can’t move his hands, dig his fingers into Akashi’s hips and force the angle but it’s good too and when Akashi comes it’s beautiful; a painful kind of tension seizing his body and clenching around Midorima in a sign he can let go and thrust fast and hard the way he wants to, with an uneven rhythm that gets him off and makes him come so hard he’s sure he even feels it in his teeth when he comes back down.

He still doesn’t get to move when he’s done; when Akashi moves up his chest and lets semen trickle out of his hole, downwards and onto Midorima’s abs.

Instead he talks like it’s casual, bites at his nipples until they’re hard and Midorima is too, and makes it clear they’re not done for the night at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also porn hello

“It’s good,” Midorima says, barely catching his breath, because Akashi always wants him to tell him what it feels like, what’s going on and how he wants to bend his body. The tile of the kitchen is cold under his knees, and it cools his feet where he kneels. Behind him, the coffee maker bubbles loudly as it reaches boiling point to make Akashi an espresso.

His neck chafes a little from the collar that jingles around it. The collar itself is soft leather, worn and buttersoft from use, but the leash that hangs from it is connected by a metal link that taps together every time he moves even a little.

When the coffee maker clicks off and finishes its routine, it leaves him with the noise of birds outside and the toy inside him. It’s not too big; nothing like the toys that scare him even if he won’t admit it. Though he can’t see it anymore, he knows it’s a deep purple, with subtle ridges along the length. He knows it intimately, from trailing his tongue over every ridge until saliva dripped down his chin to dry there.

It makes his knees tremble, and his hands shake where they’re tied together behind his back. They’re wrist to elbow, a mocking parody of his stance with arms crossed ready to lecture, and when he moves or tries to pull them the intricate red rope tightens around his chest, down to his hips and drives the toy deeper into him through pure science of ropes that seems like cruel magic.

A hand on his shoulder keep him still until he’s pushed forward, forehead nearly on the floor when he’s let go and looked at like art instead of a person, and he doesn’t dare look up when he’s been told before he’s not allowed to. At this angle, it makes his glasses slide down his nose and tap against the floor when they slide off entirely. 

Akashi hums like he’s satisfied and drives the toy deeper with the heel of his shoe. It drags a cry from Midorima, rips it from his throat and bounces off the high ceilings of the kitchen. It’s quiet for a moment before a pale, in comparison small hand appears in front of him and takes hold of the end of the leash to tug him along.

With his hands behind him, finding balance is hard and he stumbles a few times but manages to follow at a suitable pace. Every halfstep jars the toy inside of him until he forgets to be quiet and whimpers with each of them, led deliriously by gentle hands to clamber onto the couch awkwardly when he reaches it.

It’s vulnerable when he’s on his back, exposed to Akashi the way he always is with his legs spread. One hooks over the back of the couch, though Akashi draws his attention with nimble fingers that make the vibration rock through him harder and send spikes of whitehot pleasure up his spine to where his mind blanks for a moment. When the toy twists inside him it catches sensitive parts on a perfect angle that make him bite his lip and look at the blurry figure that’s Akashi.

Control slips from him when fingers tease along the underside of his balls and around them, weighing them in soft hands that feel like they’re rubbing him everywhere. When a tight rings snaps around the base of his cock, it’s a shock he’s not expecting and he bucks, tightening the rope around him with the movement.

“I told you to be quiet,” Akashi says, and the low tone of voice is barely breaking the silence. The espresso in his hands is empty; the cup disappears to the table and Akashi pushes down his grey pants. Underneath he’s slick, lube helping where Midorima’s tongue had only done so much beforehand. 

He sits prettily, hands on his own thighs when he mounts Midorima and clenches around him on purpose a few times to see his eyes squeeze shut and listen to pained noises leave him. All he wants to do is come; to switch their positions and rut like an animal but the ropes restrict him from doing more than leaning up a little before he’s pushed back down. This close, if he squints he can make out the details of Akashi caring for no pleasure but his own.

Akashi rides him with abandon, raising up only to drop himself down as hard as possible with harsh slaps of skin and the wet noise of penetration. Sweat trickles from his hairline to the collar of his shirt when he nears his edge and comes on Midorima, catching his breath despite Midorima’s painful need to come.

“You have to do better next time,” Akashi says, and it’s almost kind in contrast to his actions. The semen on Midorima’s abs gets scraped up as best as possible, smeared on his lips where he waits for the go-ahead to lick it off. When he gets it he relishes the taste, sucking on as much of Akashi’s fingers as he can reach. “Because my orders are absolute.”

When he lets Midorima’s cock slip out of him he moves and takes the cockring with him, tosses it away when it’s unneeded and forces the vibrator deeper into him with a callous smile. Two fingers rub over the slit of his cock to stimulate the sensitive nerves there and laugh when they come away wet with precome. 

Midorima’s mind goes blank for a long time, focusing on nothing but the grind of the toy inside him and the way it’s forced back in when his body tries to push it out; the feeling of Akashi’s hand jerking at him until he comes with an ooze of liquid all over the side of Akashi’s hand.

He licks that up too when he comes to with a hand in his hair and the bitter taste of semen on his tongue. Akashi ignores him when he’s done, buttons up his pants and goes for another coffee while Midorima calms down. Soon he knows they’ll talk; undo ropes and collars and clean up the oil and dried semen on him, but for now he enjoys basking in the afterglow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not porn i whisper to you

“You like this, right?” Akashi says, with the kind of air about him that says it’s not really a question at all - it’s more of a confirmation that he knows what Midorima likes. He holds his hands out like an offering; hands full of things that make bubbles and oils that smell good.

He’s in the doorway when Midorima looks up; halfnaked getting ready for a bath before he spends the weekend at Akashi’s to make up for the distance between them. Akashi’s home has a big, comfortable bath in a bathroom decorated in blacks, golds and creams.

“Not particularly,” Midorima denies, and turns to folds his uniform shirt neatly. He hates it when they’re messy, when they’re creased and just shoved into duffel bags the way Takao does before and after matches. Every time he does it, he suspects it’s on purpose.

“Really,” Akashi says, quiet and full of unspoken things that sound like the start of a conversation one might have with a particularly good private detective. Midorima half expects him to pull out some photographs of him in a bathtub full of bubbles as a five year old. “But you were looking at them in the store.”

He had been; it’s undeniable. They smell good and make his skin feel soft and supple, ease the headaches that come from training for hours or the neverending ache of tossing three-pointers from all across the pitch, the running back and forth to pick them up again.

It smells like lavender when Akashi pours some of the oils into the bath, a hint of coconut for bubbles. He gets in first and leaves enough space to be sat behind; the steam that drifts up from the water makes the tips of his hair curl slightly. It gives him a slightly cheeky, boyish look that’s refreshing after the way he always looks a little too mature, a little too strained whenever he’s in public.

He still does, with a furrow between his brow that barely shows up when he watches Midorima’s movement. He imagines it’s much like being in a war and eternally swinging a sword, being unable to put it down and rest. Even Midorima has a break sometimes, times when he’s not always rigid and scoring. It makes him feel slightly sorry for Akashi, unable to stop straining himself.

When he gets in the bath, he doesn’t know where to put his hands - never knows where to put his hands - and they end up on Akashi’s waist. Akashi closes his eyes, relaxes in a completely confident way that screams he feels comfortable with Midorima, trusts him, knows he’s nothing but good.

Midorima’s fingers twitch for a second before he leans back too, and it makes them both shift forward a little until the tips of his knees almost stick out of the water.

“Maybe I like it a bit,” He admits, soothed by the gentle scents. In front of him, the corners of Akashi’s mouth quirk up a smile that says I knew it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also not porn

Akashi prefers mornings.

The ones where it’s quiet, on the verge of rain so obvious no one leaves home without an umbrella. He likes it more when there’s no one in the house but him and Shintarou, and there’s no obligations for the day. It’s his favourite if it’s a little bit cold because the window’s open - the chill always makes goosebumps raise on his skin.

Shintarou sleeps longer than he does, and doesn’t wake when he leaves for coffee. On quiet mornings, he has coffee from the machine, with a little packet that makes it creamier and sweeter (because Shintarou sips at it too, and though he’d never admit it, his nose scrunches very slightly like a rabbit’s when he has something he doesn’t like).

By routine he has red cups, hot in his hands when he turns back to the stairs towards the bedroom. By the time he gets back, the bedroom door is almost shut again by the wind, quiet but unavoidable.

When it’s cold, he has a good excuse to get back into bed and leave his coffee on the bed side table after a sip or two, and a better excuse to shift closer and closer to the warmest patch of the bed.

Shintarou sleeps on his side, reaching out, but he doesn’t like being the big spoon. He goes easily if Akashi comes closer and sticks them chest to chest to leech heat, then leans his face even closer to watch his lashes twitch with the coming discomfort.

They’re long and almost pretty, black as pitch and hidden behind glasses with the rare exception of mornings. His eyes stay half closed when he wakes to an eskimo kiss, gentle and barely there but familiar. The yawn that takes him is rude so he always moves away, sits up and immediately scoots back down when the cold air hits his skin.

The excuse to cuddle is convenient and close at hand, and even Shintarou doesn’t bother working around it. His fingers are untaped when he accepts coffee, pleasantly warm when they come to touch Akashi’s skin.

Shintarou prefers mornings too.


	5. envy is red red red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dubcon

“He calls you by your first name,” Akashi is odd come winter, when he’s awkwardly been introduced to Takao. His eyes keep darting to Midorima, like he’s a complicated shogi play or a tv murder mystery.

“We’re friends,” Midorima frowns, and even he knows friends allow friends certain liberties. Akashi walks paces in front of him, leading the way to the hotel he has for the night in lieu of a long bus-ride back home. The parlor is grand when he leads the way in; only the best for the Akashi heir.

“Just friends?” Akashi asks in a show of doubt Midorima’s unaccustomed to when he’s almost always assertive and sure; sometimes even to extents that scare and worry him. Up the stairs, the room takes a keycard and looks beautiful in sober, soft beige colours and a huge bed.

“Yes,” the confirmation comes easy as he’s guided to sit on the bed. Their entire conversation feels like jealousy and it offends him slightly, because he’s never given Akashi reason to doubt him. “If you think-“

The sentence he starts gets no finish when Akashi’s hands find his hair and push him down, then he hovers over him. Teeth bite into his lip until it’s sore and almost bleeding, painful and jarring and full of mixed emotions that reflect in a slightly wild look.

“I’ll kill him,” Akashi lets him breathe to threaten in the way he always does; the way that worries Midorima. He latches onto Midorima’s neck roughly, and it forces his heartbeat to speed up as he pushes at Akashi’s shoulders, getting him to move by pure upper body strength.

“We need to talk,” he tries and finds quicker hands than his forcing his arms up towards the headboard, securing him with the detachable strap from his sports dufflebag. Bites land up and down his forearm while Akashi’s there, leaving marks in their wake. “Stop it…”

He cuts off with a moan, mind short-circuited by Akashi sliding down to touch at his sensitive nipples in ways only long-time lovers know how. Through the thin fabric of his jersey Akashi sucks on one until it stiffens, mixing rough pinches on the other to draw pained, pleasured whimpers from him.

“No,” Akashi manages out and blows on the wet patch; he sits back on his haunches to look at the stiff cock tenting Midorima’s shorts with an ability to resist his nipples being played with. “You’re mine.”

“I know,” Midorima bucks at the noise of a cap being flipped open and cold, slick hands coat his cock. The jealousy is stupid; he doesn’t want to do this angry and tries to turn, moved back easily with steady hands then gets treated to the sight of Akashi liberally slicking himself hastily, preparing himself less than Midorima thinks he should. “Just stop-“

“No,” Akashi repeats and holds Midorima’s cock so he can sit, taking it inside him. He feels impossibly tight, hot and determined and his head tips back while he releases a breathy moan. Catching his breath he leans in and whispers, “I won’t let him have you.”

Without pausing he lifts his hips, moving agonizingly slowly until Midorima clenches his fists and whimpers, giving up any control he had before. His hips buck to follow the tight heat but he gets no more as Akashi stays poised with only the tip of Midorima’s cock inside him.

“Who do you belong to?” Akashi asks, every inch his glorious former captain despite his state. Under his shorts his cock is short but stiff, his face flushed and mouth open. He bites at his lip and draws Midorima’s gaze.

“I belong to you,” he offers up and gets rewarded when Akashi lets go, fucking himself mindlessly on Midorima’s cock. His pace increases every time, forcing himself downwards to get it deeper until Midorima lets go and comes with a groan.

“Mine,” Akashi confirms with him again after, regal and satisfied and unties him, and drops the subject forever.


	6. it's spelled 'come'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sexting

Most of their correspondence is proper. It’s well-punctuated, about basketball or school, or a piano composition Akashi would like to hear him play. It’s also safe; easy for Midorima to figure out how much enthusiasm he should show and when to get excited. It suits him, he thinks; a coolheaded demeanor like the maturity Akashi carries like a second skin while Midorima strives for it.

Then sometimes (mostly on weekends, or friday nights), Akashi reverts to being fifteen, horny and improper.

_I keep thinking about the face you make when you come, Akashi states in a polite non-sequiter one saturday in April, when they’re having lunch several prefectures apart._

_Why?_ Midorima texts back, puzzled, and it’s the first time Akashi has been so blatantly outspoken about their relations (held secret, close to their hearts and with their current distance, few and far between).

 _I’m trying to sext with you, you cretin._ The exasperated tone Akashi often carries at disobedient teammates is obvious even over a text message, and it itches at Midorima. That tone is for Aomine, for Haizaki or perhaps Kise. It is not for him - smart, intiutive, and a high-level achiever.

 _I think about that all the time, already._ He types in triumphantly, and thinks of bad novels and movie sex scenes. _And about when you sit on m-_

He breaks off mid-sentence, unable to type it out and flushes red despite only Akashi seeing the message.

 _Yes?_ Akashi prompts, waiting for his continuation, then gets there first. _I think about you sometimes on my bed with your head on my pillow and your ass in the air, hands tied to your ankles and moaning because you like being fingered._

 _You watch too much porn._ Midomira backs out, suddenly shy but with a tingle in his tummy he’s not liberal enough to try to question.

 _Sigh._ Is all he gets back, and it’s almost audible.

There’s no attempt again till June, when they’ve met up a few more times and he’s starting to get frustrated with the length of time between meetings.

 _I never forgot what you said._ He text hesitantly, then adds for clarity, _About me. On your bed._

 _Neither did I._ Akashi agrees, infuriatingly keyed into Midorima’s mind, then types long and proper and makes Midorima wait. _I keep thinking about it, all the time. You’re naked and nervous but you trust me, so even if you’re moving about you’ll stay there. You shiver when I try touching you._

Watching the words pop up, Midorima does shiver, realizes it’s his move and that Akashi’s likely waiting, then forces the words out with his stomach in knots.

 _Do you talk to me when you’re preparing yourself?_ He asks, cringing the moment he sends it in a shy kind of agony.

 _Yes._ Akashi texts, and there’s a certain triumph to the words.

Midorima gets very, very used to it.


	7. pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vamp!au

"You ought to be more afraid of me," the vampire in Akashi’s bedroom states in an indignant tone. His suit is black as the night, with lace at his throat and cuffs that’s slightly yellowed with age for an antique look. Two fangs peek over his lips to make certain the image of vampire is complete, and Akashi wonders how he didn’t end up with a cape. The vampire in Akashi’s bedroom plays very strictly by the rules. “I could kill you, you know."  
The vampire with the green hair and the glasses folds his arms, tapping perfectly manicured nails on the arm of his suit jacket. A frown knits his brows together without wrinkles because vampires, as a rule, are youthful beauties who do not have wrinkles.

"Are you sure?" Akashi asks, then sits up in his bed for a better view. His blanket slides down his chest to show his pristine white nightshirt, and he sees the vampire - who dusted off the lamp on Akashi’s nightstand before posturing himself into dark scourge of the night - wears boots with a small heel. As if he wasn’t tall enough already.

"I’m very sure," the vampire insists, and frowns even deeper. Instead of terrifying, it makes him look endearing and pouty, and Akashi almost feels a sympathy for him. He has been intimately familiar with being endeared by strangers. But the vampire with the pearly white fangs looks to the carelesly discarded school uniform on Akashi’s floor, and ruins the sympathy.

"Really," Akashi sighs again, and gets out of bed. He has an early morning tomorrow and no time for this. “Because you look like you’d be more irked by the mess a murder would make on my white carpet-" (the vampire with the nailfile in his pocket winces) "-and the maid’s screaming-" (this time he cringes) "-and the general health and safety issues to contact with blood from a stranger to go to the effort of killing me.”

As he finishes, Akashi folds his arms too, and watches the vampire’s shoulders sag a little. He supposes he took the fun out of being terrifying and in control. Part of him expects the vampire to have done an STD test on him for safety.

"Come here, then," Akashi sits on his bed and cocks his neck to the side as an invitation, and resigns himself to being caretaker to world’s worst vampire. “And do tell me your name."


	8. chocolate

Midorima, in his free time during classes (when he runs miles ahead of the plebian masses), considers a great many things. He considers politics and basketball, and the way they have fallen apart. He considers the logistics of leaves falling from trees and the use of astrology. Then sometimes, he considers more frivolous things.

If Akashi were a chocolate, he thinks to himself, he would be a coffee truffle. Small but strong, with an intense flavour. Rich, creamy and heady and often not to everyone’s flavour. Best in small doses, and with a hint of sweetness in the white chocolate coating. For himself, he also thinks, he would choose plain milk chocolate.  
When he says so, Akashi begs to differ. As much as Akashi is capable of begging, at least.

"Definitely not," Akashi immediately, in his easy, confident authoritarian manner that refuses to not mind Midorima of coffee. "That’s nonsense."

Midorima starts to argue, but instead silences himself with an orange zest that reminds him of Kise (fruity, zesty, widely enjoyed and sweet with a definite zingy, sharp citrus presence) and chews slowly. There’s no use trying to make a counterargument when Akashi’s not yet done speaking.

"You’re certainly a Turkish Delight," Akashi picks one up and breaks it in half. "The dark chocolate coating is slightly bitter and sober, as you portray yourself."

He pops one half in his mouth despite having a mystery chocolate wrapped in front of him, and though it’s not really a chocolate, it reminds Midorima of Aomine who can take anyone by surprise.

"But inside it’s classic and exotic," he continues, and Midorima feels his face heat. "Sofisticated but light and enjoyable."

He pauses for a second, then adds, “Addictive, even.” and his tone says the conversation is over. Midorima makes a tactical retreat to think of a counterargument, but considers the war mostly lost.


	9. poetic

Midorima is not very good at poetry. He is skilled at math, and languages, and sports beyond that. He’s good at cutting vegetables in the precise fashion he likes them in, and at keeping his bedroom clean in meticulous fashion that makes his mother’s friends envious. He’s good at finishing his homework during class so he can check his texts, and make his move on the shogi app he’s linked up to Akashi wtih.

But even when he checks reference books and how-to guides, and once even asks his teacher, he’s no good at it. Haikus that follow the rules never sound good when he makes them, and he fixates on ones that do it all wrong. He is precise, not formless, and it frustrates him to no end.

 _you are meteors_  
and landslides, and i am the  
earth that loves you still

He types experimentally in the chat on his shogi app, and instead of backspace, hits send. A wave of cold terror hits him, then a flush of hot anxiousness melts it away. In the middle of class, he waits for a reply telling him what he’s done wrong, and how it should be.

 _i would rather be_  
the rain that makes you flourish  
and the skies that watch

He gets back instead, and cannot help but smile in public.


	10. liaise

"Could you liaise with Midorima-kun?" Momoi asks, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and a stack of papers in the other. Despite her nice tone, she looks hurried and busy on the last days of the month checking in with the staff in their co-owned company. "I believe he’s been having some issues."

On the other side of the large office, Midorima is unmistakable with perfect posture and green hair. His desk is perfectly organised around his keyboard, screen, and phone. Colour coded papers are pinned on the wall next to him to make a quick search easier.

Normally, he looks prim and proper but in Momoi’s opinion, quite content. Instead, at the moment he looks tense, trying to get a word in edge-wise into the phonecall he’s having.

"I know," Akashi says from next to her, in a black suit without the jacket. It’s unneccesary in their office that’s kept in a perpetually warm state. 

"Then why didn’t you help him?" Momoi asks, and resists the urge to sigh. Akashi is brilliant, does everything asked of him and much more besides, but sometimes she feels like she’s running a daycare.

"I’m going to now, aren’t I?" Akashi counters, and she can’t argue with it. Something in his tone makes her look up though, in time to see him set a plastic cup of lemon tea aside. "I’ll liaise with him.”

With that he wanders off, and this time she does sigh. With a soft word Akashi leans over where Midorima sits, back to chest and close enough to listen in to the phone call, then whisper advice to Midorima who looks relieved.

Momoi takes the lemon tea, then leaves to pour it down the sink before it goes cold in Akashi’s absence. Midorima doesn’t look like he’s running for HR any time soon.


	11. vast

There is an infinity about Akashi that scares him.

"You’re not saying no," Akashi states the obvious, but he’s afraid of the implications of that.

"I’m not," Midorima agrees, and he’s afraid but eager, and the words slip out like water as if he will never say them if he doesn’t say them now.

"You’re not as smart as you always looked" Akashi insults him, and for a moment Midorima cringes while his body contradicts him. He shivers at the feeling of a thumb pressing on his pressure points, sending aches and shivers of pain down his body.

He doesn’t respond for lack of words to speak when he wants to argue the sentiment but agrees with Akashi.

A sheer intellect and will rolls off Akashi in waves, making him feel bigger and more vast than he is; sometimes, he makes Midorima feel afraid.

When he does, his heart races in his throat and his mouth says yes, yes, please keep looking. Something about that attention, honing in on him alone, send thrills down his spine and makes him agree to anything.

From one pressure point, Akashi’s hands slip to his neck without permission, and his hands are less slender but more agile and wrap around his windpipe. When they press, Midorima goes still; Akashi is reminded of nothing more than an animal playing dead.

"Why don’t you struggle," he questions until Midorima is desperate for breath and thrashes; bucks underneath him and pushes at his wrists with the strength of youth and fear but something unspoken and desired that weakens his grip.

The unspoken things scare Akashi too because they beckon him with permission that ask him to do the things he leaves in the back of his mind until he forgets they are there.

"I can’t," Midorima answera after he coughs and chokes on thin air when Akashi lets go, and the choking brings tears to his eyes and Akashi can’t say he doesn’t enjoy them. He seems resigned when he speaks. "I can’t."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tentacle porn

Midorima often wondered. However, most of the time he wondered after mundane things, such as why he continued to try to read Plato when he couldn’t stand the man, what they could have for dinner, and why his boyfriend appeared to have tentacles.

Sure, the last one was a new one, but he would argue it fit in the aforementioned category. The tentacles themselves were inoffensive; beautiful murky reds with bands of gold. There were far more than he could count, not even with them possessively clinging to him like he might entertain such thoughts as leaving the bed, or perhaps moving. They were ridiculous thoughts.

 _Fuck it,_  he would have thought if he were not a man above vulgarity and base language, when a smooth, dry tentacle slipped up to rub lovingly at his cheek like an affectionate cat. He was going back to bed.

Unfortunately for Midorima, the appendages still appeared to be replacing the lower half of his boyfriend’s body when he woke up.

"Science," Akashi admitted, slightly rueful and a bit guilty. Midorima kept telling him to wear gloves, but did he listen? No. Not even sometimes.

"Are they permanent?" he asked, absently petting one that slithered into his hand and nudges at his fingers. They were very friendly, he’d come to realise very quickly. 

"I don’t know," the tentacles knotted slightly, twisting into eachother as if hurt they weren’t whole-heartedly wanted. He wasn’t sure how exactly he’d become so sure they had minds of their own. "At least it’s easier to get dressed."

-

The tentacles, as they were, were alarmingly well-accepted. The maid only dropped one of her two plates, and could even find her breath to apologize despite Akashi approaching her to help her up. Midorima found he still gloated a little when Akashi showed human compassion and kindness, and it was good to be proud of one’s accomplishments.

"Will you be… requiring a chair…?" she tried - bless her, she tried - and scurried off for a fresh breakfast when Akashi shook his head. When he drew up to his full height, he was slightly taller than before. Secretly, he seemed a little bit pleased by the development.

"I have a presentation today," Akashi started, as if he wasn’t pouring milk into his coffee by pouring it with one of his tentacles as a test of control. He often had to give presentations within the company, but years of his father’s intense encouragement gave him the confidence to hold a room’s attention with ease. "Do you have the day off?"

As it was summer, Midorima had a day off - after the summer, he would be god-awfully busy at a doctor’s office, earning his work experience day by day. He shook his head, then hesitated.

"Technically, yes," he started, middled, and eventually finished. What if they were poisonous? His hand hovered near a pot of sweet chili jam where he’d been trying to get to some rice. He drew a breath, determined to get what he wanted. Akashi wouldn’t even think of them being poisonous, but god help him, he couldn’t just take that risk. "I need a sample."

With his quick wit and preternatural grace, Akashi caught on with annoying speed, uttering a no as he backed away. Despite being new, the tentacles lent him much of his old, frustrating grace.

"We can’t risk it, Seijuurou," he started, determined to get a sample even if it wasn’t a completely clean one. He just needed a bit. To fill the spoon in his hand. For  _tests_. He only needed a  _bit_.

"No," Akashi emphasized in displeasure, deftly stepping back as Midorima almost caught him. He wasn’t above trying to catch Akashi if it was for their own health and safety. As he got close enough to almost grab, he slipped forward, jolting like he’d stood on a cat. Looking down, none of the tentacles seemed… broken, per se, but several knotted sadly over one he couldn’t see under them.

"I’m sorry," he said, aghast at himself. He wanted to make sure they were safe (for him), not hurt them! As he had become accustomed to in treating bruises and scraped knees, he dropped to one knee and reached out. "Let me see."

With the delicacy of a doctor’s hands, he took hold of the bruised tentacle when it slowly emerged from its hiding spot, and stroked his fingers down the tip. There was no visual indication of where he’d stepped on it, so he’d have to find it. With slightly increasing pressure, he felt down the length of it until it jerked unhappily in his grasp. The bruise wasn’t far down, and he frowned. He wasn’t a biologist - he didn’t know if being stepped on was dire.

To his left, one of the other tentacles jealously rubbed on his hip until he petted it without thinking. Indulging one encouraged the others, until half a dozen begged his attention. He was sure he didn’t quite have enough hands - wouldn’t have, even if the one in his right hand wasn’t squirming happily at his carresses.

"I think they like you," Akashi informed him, sounding slightly breathless, looking a bit flushed when Midorima looked up.

"Are you alright?" Midorima frowned, about to let go of the tentacles to stand up. He tried to let the one in his hand slip through his fingers, and bumped into a shape where it had before slimmed down to the tip.

In alarm he looked down, taking a second to take in the results of his petting. The tentacle he’d stepped on wasn’t the shape it had been - instead, it held the distinct, unmistakable shape of a cock. The bands of gold still trailed down it, but the head was flushed a dark red and glistened faintly.

"I think they like you a lot." The tentacle rubbed along his hand, letting him feel the slightly damp tip. When he didn’t move to stroke it, it rubbed harder as though to make up for his lack.

 _What do I do_ , he thought of asking, then thought of the replies he’d get, and instead opened his mouth and leaned in. The tentacle still tasted of Akashi. Salty skin with a hint of leaking bitterness, and the scent of musk. He sucked on the tip softly, being cautious until they knew how sensitive they were, then swirled his tongue around it deliberately. The sensation made it writhe in his mouth and it slipped in deeper, only stopping when he held onto it firmly and sucked hard. A strangled groan left Akashi, who fisted his hands in Midorima’s hair.

Like they were each a little part of Akashi, the others took offense to his lack of attention - his mouth and hands were focused on only one, when there were so many - and sought their own enjoyment, slipping under his shirt to rub skin to skin. He had the time to feel one slick, wet trail cool until more crowded around him, eagerly nudging their way in instead of biding their time.

"Yesss," Akashi hissed out, uncomfortably serpentine but he didn’t have the time to dwell on it as a tentacle found his nipple and prodded at it curiously. They played over his body like hands, trying to find the spots that made him rub against the few tentacles lovingly grinding against the front of his tented pajama pants.

They seemed to understand his nipples were sensitive - responsive - and kept coming back, rubbing roughly and gently in turns until he reached down and pushes his pajama pants down over his hips. He needed - well, anything.

"Here," Akashi supplied, and a tentacle offered him a dark green bottle of virgin olive oil. He’d take the time to be unimpresed by the irony later. Thankfully it was already uncapped as he tipped some on his fingers, reaching back to slip two fingers into himself. A tentacle eagerly nudged at his hole beside his fingers, almost instantly joined by others. He heard Akashi take a shaky breath, reigning them in until they rubbed between his thighs and waited. He gave Akashi a thankful glance, and got a small smile out of the overwhelmed look on Akashi’s face.

"They all want to be in you," his fingers tightened on Midorima’s hair, as if grounding himself, and to an extent, the tentacles creeping back to where he had three fingers inside himself.

 _You have a presentation in an hour_ , he tried to mumble, but only tempted the tentacle in his mouth to try to slide further down his throat, closer to the vibrations until he gagged. With one hand not matching up to it, his other shot to grab hold too, leaving him defenceless to the first eager tentacle to writhe up and experimentally nudge at his hole. It seemed to decide he was stretched enough and added pressure to slip in, making him moan around the tentacle in his mouth, accidentally coaxing it to come. This liquid seeped down his throat, the tentacle so deep down it he had no choice but to swallow as it pulled out. A few sticky strands clung to it and stuck to his lips when it pulled too far away. 

Before he even had the time to cough, the tentacle inside him forced another moan from him as it found the time to wriggle and situate itself inside him before pulling out almost fully, then sliding back into him eagerly. It didn’t waste time starting off slowly, and the others matched its pace as it started a ruthless rhythm, leaving him to slump forward and cling on to Akashi’s waist.

With the sensations everywhere he couldn’t hold on long - every bit of him felt debauched and dirty, being rubbed on by the eager tentacles until his body tingled, pooling heat where three of the tentacles lazily fought for the position of rubbing up against his cock. With a groan he came, dirtying the tentacles with strands of semen. As if pleased, they followed suit, each leaving a ribbon or two sticking delicately to his skin.

Within moments, they were shrinking back to their original size, relunctantly letting go of him to slink back to their position beneath Akashi as if they didn’t hide secrets within them.

"They’d better not be poisonous," Midorima mumbled when he’d caught his breath, exhausted and sorely in need of a shower.

"When I get home," Akashi promised soothingly, and rubbed at his sticky shoulder. "You can have a sample."

And well, that went a long way towards being a good apology.


	13. yes yes yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no

"Fuck me," Midorima asks and it is the only time he is honest, truly honest in ways that don’t come easy to him.

"I was going to," Akashi says and the hunger boils inside him; now the nights grow cold and dark and long, he can’t tame it; it rises like bile in his throat and sears through his stomach like cheap ale.

"Please—" Midorima repeats, and bares his neck. Akashi wishes he would not - the hunger that he stills when he takes down those who try to raise their heads above his is not satisfied by small measures of carnal lust.

"Be quiet," Akashi does not beg.

Midorima stays silent but keens out a noise of gratitude when Akashi sinks his teeth into his shoulder: it is pale, broad and muscled. In their cold capital, it’s not uncommon to see pale skin, but he likes it nonetheless.

He rips more noises from Midorima’s throat in lieu of ripping it out entirely, but at the door their companions are weary and pass by too often, their undelicate footsteps irking his ears when he should be distracted, burying himself in Midorima’s body like he has no choice-

(He doesn’t: his choice was taken from him years past, in dark places)

"More," Midorima begs, and it rips at Akashi’s hunger like a leash pulled tight, then makes his heart clench in his chest - the others are cautious, smart and hold him at arm’s length while they sate his needs, but Midorima gives too much.

He groans; marks his territory with seed and sweat and teeth marks before his canines retract and his skin stops feeling too small for his body.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so shoujo

"Can you meet me in the training court tonight?"  
  
The words make Midorima look up from his shoelaces. They’re whispered secretively, and phrased as a question - unlike the Akashi he has seen in the past few weeks.

"Of course," he replies, standing. And well, if his chest is puffed out a little in pride that Akashi asked him where he tells others, everyone thinks he’s weird anyway.

-

Later that day, he wonders exactly what time they should meet. What if he’s late? What if he’s early?

"You’re being a giant dweeb about it," his cousin supplies helpfully, with a tone of laughter Midorima thinks is unique to smug adults.

"Go away," he sulks, resting his face on his homework. Of course, the ink stains his cheek, and he has to scrub it off, and get changed and-

'Are you coming?' Akashi texts, and he flees the house as fast as his long legs can carry him.

-

When he arrives, Akashi looks cool. Really, really cool. Black slacks, white shirt and an open coat despite the weather.

"Sorry I’m late," he blurts the words out and comes closer until Akashi stops him. Under the moon, he’s lovely.

And- and holding flowers, and the tiniest blush (which is cool, because he’s normally so stoic) and opening his mouth-

"Shintarou, will you be my boyfriend?"

His heart skips a beat.


	15. open up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

"I’m absolutely over him," Midorima insisted, mouth drawn to a thin line. His fingers refused to stop tapping a staccato beat on the table, and he might not have been able to see it coming that Mr Right was in fact Mr Right Here when it came to easy grad students, but he could definitely see Kuroko losing his mind.

"I’m sure you are," Kuroko insisted too, with blatant skepticism. "But now that you’re not in a relationship, it may be a good idea to broaden your horizons. Get a bit of perspective on the various types of man."  
  
“I’m thirty-three this year, Tetsuya. My horizons are set,” His tone of voice was final, and he moved his hands to his phone in a distraction.

"Alright," Kuroko shrugged and agreed, getting up to leave. "I’m just saying, think about it."

With that he was gone, and Midorima could wallow comfortably over a mint green tea. Simon had seemed so nice: a Canadian doctor, firmly in his mid-thirties, with a passion for fishing. They’d been comfortable, easy-going and peaceful.

And so what if Midorima wasn’t ‘adventurous’? He’d hardly seen Simon propose to go sky-diving, and he’d never falsely advertised himself as a prize of excitement.

Half-way into his wallowing (which consisted largely of deleting all the texts they’d ever sent), a hand holding a poisonous looking shotglass broke his conversation.

"I think you have the wrong table," he supplied politely. The bar had filled up while he was focused on his phone.

"I never get the wrong table," the waiter countered, deigning to give him a predatory smile. His hair was a bright shock of red, even under the dim lights, and his gaze wouldn’t shift from Midorima’s face. "It’s a Horizon. On the house. Give it a shot."

Midorima opened his mouth to protest, but whether it was the terrible pun or the unwavering stare, he knocked the shot back instead. It was sickly sweet, and he briefly thought it tasted like showing Simon he was certainly a risk taker.

"Good job," the waiter smiled at him (had not, in fact, stopped smiling since he came over), and took his hand to tug him to the bar. "How about a Miami Vice?"

The Miami Vice, it turned out, was also very sweet, and loosened up his tongue.

"What an idiot," the waiter purred after Midorima finished talking, and their hands were firmly entwined on the bar counter. "You need to forget about him. Tell you what, I’ll take you back to my place. Broaden your horizons."

It sounded like a good idea, and the waiter was so nice.

His place turned out to be a bachelor pad, except cleaner, with a lovely soft bed. His hands were equally good, especially at divesting Midorima of his trousers.

"Shouldn’t you be fucking somebody your own age?" Midorima asked as well as he could, watching the waiter nuzzle along his inner thigh, stopping to suck up marks here and there. He put his mouth to better use when he nuzzled far enough between Midorima’s legs that the question was forgotten.

He answered instead minutes later, gripping the backs of Midorima’s thighs to push them up, until his knees reached his chest and he reflexively grabbed hold.

"I want to be fucking you," he smiled again and it was truly more of a smirk that stayed with him while he uncapped a small tube of lube with his teeth, and spread it on his hands and cock.

"Oh," Midorima managed through squirming at the fingers exploring and stretching him at as quick a pace as they could without rushing.

"Ready?" the waiter asked, pausing at Midorima’s headshake.

"Just— your name…" he managed, nodding for the go-ahead despite his hesitation.

"Akashi… Seijuurou," Akashi provided, lining himself up and pushing in. He was a fair size, certainly not unpleasant after foreplay. His rhythm leaned towards rough and quick, angled towards Midorima’s sweet spot at soon as he found it.

"Seijuurou!" Midorima’s voice wavered breathlessly in the middle as he tensed up, coming on the stomach and trembling slightly through the thrusts of Akashi seeking his own release.

When he found it, he toppled to the side to catch his breath.

"I think that was inside your horizons," Akashi panted out, licking his lips. "We’re going to have to branch out."


	16. you're such a good boy but i'm such a bad man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

Akashi tastes like raw power: the musk of a not-quite-adult, the sweat of a practice session, and natural salt.

Midorima twines his tongue around the shaft as gently as he can, keeping his touch light and gentle to tease Akashi into a muddled state of want. At the base of the shaft, he can see his own unbound fingers curl around and hold on just tight enough to remind Akashi that he intends to get what he wants.

A bead of semen seeps out as Midorina pulls back, dragging his lips to the curve at the tip of Akashi’s cock. His cock jerks as it leaves Midorima’s mouth and the semen turns into a sticky strand on his cupid’s bow. Through his lashes, when he looks up, everything he sees is blurred without his glasses.

"Go ahead," Akashi sounds slightly brittle, a bit rough, and inhales sharply as Midorima licks the semen off his top lip and goes back for more.

When he drags the tip of his tongue over the head of Akashi’s cock, he can feel the definition of the slit and is rewarded with another drop of semen. He turns his head and licks his way down a vein until he reaches his hand, then past it, and laps softly at what he finds there.

On his cheekbone, the semen becomes a steady trickle. Akashi has always had enough precum to be ashamed about before Midorima reassured him he prefers it - wants it, to a desperate degree.

Instead of wasting the semen, he reaches up and rubs his fingers in it and licks them clean, turning his attention back to the source. He returns his hand to the base and starts up a rhythm of long, slow squeezes that milk Akashi efficiently until he’s panting, supporting himself on Midorima’s shoulders to keep from toppling forward. A strangled groan in the only warning before Midorima has a mouth full of cum, all over his tongue.

"Show me," Akashi pants out, smiling slightly. Midorima opens his mouth wide and pushes his tongue out until the semen pools around it onto his lips. A tiny bit escapes down his chin, caught by Akashi to be licked off later. He pauses a moment, and rewards Midorima: "Swallow it."


	17. rotten rotten rotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love this verse

the kingdom was rotten to the core

(soft and easily crushed: with a sickly sweet scent)

”I suppose I should hail you as emperor,” Midorima tries for bitter. Akashi has not visited for a long, long time: travel has made it hard, and the ruthless hunt of Midorima’s father made it harder still.

And to Akashi, he has always been a petulant child. The brightest child of his age, but grating, untruthful, and rotten at best.

"For now," Akashi agrees mildly, taking in the flared pride, the desperation of an animal that thinks it’s cornered. He’s almost offended that Midorima thinks he’ll be betrayed now he’s outlived his uses, but primarily, he is proud.

"And if I won’t?" Midorima challenges, and perhaps he has not rotted straight through to the core. There is a hope of trust under his fear, that reaches out to Akashi in a desperate bid to confirm they are friends, perhaps partners.

"We have been over this before, Shintarou," Akashi is daring now he is emperor: he has proven he can crush kingdoms, and to the victor go the spoils.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more war au

the kingdom was rotten to the core

(soft and easily crushed: with a sickly sweet scent)

”I suppose I should hail you as emperor,” Midorima tries for bitter. Akashi has not visited for a long, long time: travel has made it hard, and the ruthless hunt of Midorima’s father made it harder still.

And to Akashi, he has always been a petulant child. The brightest child of his age, but grating, untruthful, and rotten at best.

"For now," Akashi agrees mildly, taking in the flared pride, the desperation of an animal that thinks it’s cornered. He’s almost offended that Midorima thinks he’ll be betrayed now he’s outlived his uses, but primarily, he is proud.

"And if I won’t?" Midorima challenges, and perhaps he has not rotted straight through to the core. There is a hope of trust under his fear, that reaches out to Akashi in a desperate bid to confirm they are friends, perhaps partners.

"We have been over this before, Shintarou," Akashi is daring now he is emperor: he has proven he can crush kingdoms, and to the victor go the spoils.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more again

"I worry about nothing," Akashi says when he’s at war. His legions are at the center of battle, fending off the incoming troops from the southern border countries that lust for his emperor’s gold and seat of power over the mines. "Nothing’s on my mind."

His tent is full, in the middle of the encampment holding six-thousand men, and bright red to live up the name of scarlet general. Against the withering landscape, it marks the earth like a spray of blood. 

To his left stands his second in command, a tall, dark-skinned man from the western countries. He has a handsome face and thick muscle; Akashi has watched him lead troops into battle outnumbered one to three and come out victorious. To his right, his primary strategist, a pretty native; a youngest son sent to war to bring honour to the family name.

Before him, most importantly, is a map of the lands, filled in by their spies reporting back locations of enemy troops. Markers litter the thick paper in the shapes of clubs and spades.

"We’ll take the castle in a fortnight," He continues, and slides a red marker topped by a heart onto a mark on the map. It’s another splash of red, and only the second one. "Two hundred troops will remain and secure the castle."

In his mind, he knows which man he will let choose and stay, but the order will come later.

"And the eldest prince, Shintarou?" Asks Mibuchi, now in front of him, with hands on the table and determination in the set of his shoulders. He’s sharp, quick and valuable.

"He means nothing to me," Akashi insists and the conversation is over. He plans more red.


	20. yes, yes, yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no.
> 
> nsfw

"Fuck me," Midorima asks and it is the only time he is honest, truly honest in ways that don’t come easy to him.

"I was going to," Akashi says and the hunger boils inside him; now the nights grow cold and dark and long, he can’t tame it; it rises like bile in his throat and sears through his stomach like cheap ale.

"Please—" Midorima repeats, and bares his neck. Akashi wishes he would not - the hunger that he stills when he takes down those who try to raise their heads above his is not satisfied by small measures of carnal lust.

"Be quiet," Akashi does not beg.

Midorima stays silent but keens out a noise of gratitude when Akashi sinks his teeth into his shoulder: it is pale, broad and muscled. In their cold capital, it’s not uncommon to see pale skin, but he likes it nonetheless.

He rips more noises from Midorima’s throat in lieu of ripping it out entirely, but at the door their companions are weary and pass by too often, their undelicate footsteps irking his ears when he should be distracted, burying himself in Midorima’s body like he has no choice-

(He doesn’t: his choice was taken from him years past, in dark places)

"More," Midorima begs, and it rips at Akashi’s hunger like a leash pulled tight, then makes his heart clench in his chest - the others are cautious, smart and hold him at arm’s length while they sate his needs, but Midorima gives too much.

He groans; marks his territory with seed and sweat and teeth marks before his canines retract and his skin stops feeling too small for his body.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> never enough

When Midorima looks at him, Akashi’s stomach twists. On his knees, Midorima reaches his chest, and it would be easy to reach out, touch, lean close and catch the gently soap-clean scent of his hair.

Somehow, the scent sparks memory of every moment of treachery he’d ignored; the sneaking suspicion of the events Midorima missed, and the whispered warnings from his advisors. They had been unneeded, and in turn, unheeded. The treachery was in plain view, but he had chosen not to look.

"Do I not get the dignity of death before a jury of my peers?" he asks, a slight tremor in his voice. The look on his face is reminiscent of Kagami - bold but scared, and righteous. It is reminiscent of when Midorima watched him die, and stood beside Akashi in silence.

"Your peers do not know what’s best for the empire," Akashi says, with authority in his voice, learned from his father. Power doesn’t rest in his hands, but rather hangs like chains from his wrists. His crown weighs heavy on his head.

"And you do?" the tone in his voice is slightly disbelieving, and a little sad. It’s almost like he feels sorry for Akashi, or pities his delusions.

"I am absolute," he says, and walks away with heavy steps to, then out of the door. Power reminds him he could stop, and turn.

Pride prevents it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> endless worry

Midorima worries pretty constantly when Akashi works late nights. Not because he doesn’t trust Akashi (he does, explicitely), or because he never works late nights himself (he does, frequently) but because it’s so damn dangerous.

"He’s around criminals all the time," Midorima complains. Despite Akashi’s confidence and skill, pure denial can’t stop a bullet. He knows - he’s removed plenty of them. "You would think a cold case squad would be safe, but instead he’s finding people who killed, then got away with it for decades."  
  
At the coffee machine, Kise bites into a german donut, and gets powdered sugar all around his mouth.

"It’s a little bit ironic that every time he opens a case, more people die," he remarks. Privately, Midorima thinks he doesn’t understand irony. "I don’t understand why he won’t take the promotion."

Really, Midorima doesn’t either, and he prepares himself to launch into a fresh tirade when his pager goes. The emergency room on a saturday night: fun, vomit, and curse words.

"Good luck," Kise wishes him as he leaves. It’s a bit hopeless sounding. They all know the ER needs patience and coffee, not luck.

On his way through the hospital, nurses smile and he does his best to return the favour. They find him endearing, which is confusing, but they’re valuable beyond words and he does well to remember it.

"Doctor," Kuroko says when he arrives at the bedside of a drunk man barely out of his teens, cradling what looks like a broken hand. No more needs to be said: Midorima steps in to look. The man slurs curses at him, and lunges. If he were more vindictive, he’d hope that trying to choke him hurts the bastard. Instead, he rips himself away and lets the orderlies come in. His throat tingles until he gets home.

"You’re bruised," Akashi states as soon as his coat is hung up, and he makes for dinner heating in the oven. His face is a peculiar cross between subdued rage and murderous plotting. The outcome is mildly fear inspiring.

"It’s nothing," he tries futilely, tilting his head to let Akashi peer close and touch gently. "Part of the job."

In front of him, Akashi scoffs and picks wine to keep himself from a rude remark.

"I do worry about you when I’m not there," he sighs. It strikes a familiar cord in Midorima’s chest as he picks two wineglasses from the cupboard.

Later, Akashi litters his neck with kisses.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh

”How many men have you killed?” the officer asks Akashi. He has green hair and green eyes. Akashi imagines that he clashed terribly while patrolling the streets.

"None, technically," he smirks, only a little smug. A tingle forms in his gut; it is triumphant, a little bit naughty, and stems from every bit of satisfaction after weathering his father’s curt reprimands to not mouth off.

The officer’s mouth had already been set in a grim line before, but now turned down into a true frown. In all honesty, he looked like a man who smiled little. Akashi could fix that.

(After the murder enquiry; a minor inconvenience.)

A tinny, quiet sound signalled someone beyond the room saying something.

"You’re free to go," the phrase seemed to drag its way up the officer’s throat with barbed hooks.

"So soon?" Akashi questioned, with the best smile he’d managed to learn from his aunt’s cats. It was sharp, with an air of insincirity. "What’s your name?"

“Detective Superintendent Midorima Shintarou,” he offered reluctantly, holding the door open for him to leave.

As he passed into the walkway, he was already thinking of him on first name basis.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> young poets

After the first time, Midorima doesn’t grow more confident. It is, perhaps, a feeling of beginner’s luck that chains him down and holds him back, but an air of expectant patience is almost tangible.   
  
And what, he wants to beg, does Akashi want from him? He is fifteen, after all, and a scientific mind at that.

Slowly, his fingers trace letters as if to chase those running back and forth through his mind. History is forgotten; he’ll read the textbook later.

_Some things remind me,_   
_Like dark stars and setting suns:_   
_Nothing outdoes you_

When he is done he flushes: bright red eartips and his collar awkwardly turmed up. The teacher rolls his eyes and moves on.

_I saw miracle,_   
_In your hands, your face, in you._   
_No sun competes_

The cliché of it strikes him, and Midorima refuses to care.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midorima feels sick when akashi touches him and sicker when he doesn’t

He texts at 9:36 that he’s on his way home, 2 dirty martinis churning around his empty belly with both heady warmth and wretched, anticipating fear.

At 9:38, akashi tells him to be home by ten. It is impossible and unreasonable, and the clipped, short text message speaks volumes.

At 10:03 he stumbles in, face too hot and a stitch in his side. Akashi is waiting in the living room: Midorima can hear the tap, tap, tap of his fingertips on dark wood.

Catching his breath, he hangs up his coat and tries not to smell like bars, and sweat, and humans. Akashi hates it when he smells like other people. He keeps his back straight and makes for the kitchen for a glass of water. Dinner is cold on the table, and guilt gnaws at his gut, but he has to keep a strong front. It is all he can do in the face of Akashi’s scornful displeasure.

"Shintarou," Akashi purrs and it is a bad, bad thing that he sounds pleased, delighted, overjoyed even, because Akashi only sounds that happy when everything is according to plan.

"I apologize," Midorima starts and eventually ends. The tap is still running and his mouth is halfway open at the way the crop in Akashi’s hand catches the light and gleams. It beats a steady tap, tap, tap against his black slacks.

"Good," Akashi interrupts, smiling. It makes lines crinkle at the corner of his eyes. He gestures to the livingroom, to the couches he has owned since Midorima entered high school. The unspoken command lingers between them before he gives in, turns off the tap, and passes the crop whip to kneel on the couch. "I’m so glad you’re making it up to me."

With deft hands he makes short work of Midorima’s belt and works down his slacks and his boxers in one quick motion. The house is pleasantly warm, he notes inanely before a tiny, soft tap centers his focus entirely to one place.

"I trust you have a good reason to be home so late," Akashi suggests archly, tip of the crop trailing patterns on Midorina’s skin.

"Aomine’s girlfriend dumped him," Midorima admits honestly, and yelps at the first strike and the stinging line that follows.

"That’s more important than I am?" The demand is egotistical and selfish, accompanied by a hand soothing his stinging skin. When he’s unforthcoming with an answer, another strike finds him, then another, in an undefined rhythm leaving him time enough to speak each time. His legs tremble before he caves in and gives Akashi what he wants: submission, dependence, a twisted kind of worship.

"No," he whines out and waits for the next strike that does not come. Warm lips kiss at the sting. "I’m sorry. They’re not more important than you."

A pleased noise leaves Akashi, then the sound of the crop being tossed on the couch.

"I’m glad to hear that," his smile is brilliant at 10:34. "Now, don’t you think it’s time for dinner?"


	26. Chapter 26

Akashi is cold, cold, cold most of the time when they first meet, in personality as well as temperature.

Midorima meets him in college; one hopeful doctor sizing the other up. It doesn’t take long to figure out Akashi isn’t a hopeful, but rather a certainty.

“Your diagnoses is wrong,” Akashi supplies coolly, looking over Midorima’s shoulder to a page with seven of them. Before he can ask for more (which one? why? who are you to say so?) Akashi is gone as quickly as he came.

As abrupt as he is with Midorima, he explains to the class with a great relish, a kind of feeling of superiority, and says his part. It sort of annoys Midorima. Is he not good enough for an explanation?

“It’s right this time,” Akashi says a week later in a university park. He has a red icepop in his hands and not a drop of sweat on him. His skin is cool relief when it brushes past Midorima’s neck to gesture vaguely at the page. “But that’s not right.”

With that he’s off again, and it makes Midorima want to scream.

Later that Tuesday, after he spends three hours annoyed, he waits outside Akashi’s class.

“What is your problem with me?” he bites out, despite how difficult it is to ask. Akashi shrugs.

“No problem,” mischief sparks a smile in him.

“You explain to the class,” Midorima wants to shake him. “Why not me?”

“You can do better,” Akashi laughs at if it’s obvious. “You can figure it out yourself. You’re smart.”

With that he slips by, slinks off, and leaves Midorima anger to be replaced by a blush.


End file.
